In May 2024, InHabit’s Editor in Chief Annie Brandner sat down with Canadian author and actor Evangeline Lilly at her Vancouver area home. Perhaps best known for her work in film and television on Lost, The Hobbit, and Antman & The Wasp, Lilly has written and published three books in her children’s series The Squickerwonkers and continues to write while on indefinite hiatus from acting. 

In part one of the conversation, Lilly discusses new beginnings in her forties, her spiritual evolution, and moving into the second half of life. She also opens up about her relationship to fame, and what she’s working on now.
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On being 44 

Thank you for sitting down with me today. If you’re comfortable answering, how old are you? 

I’m 44, and proud to say it. 

How old do you feel? 

I feel 44. And for the record, I think the idea that age is just a number is complete bullshit. I have been on this planet for 44 years, which comes with a whole set of experiences, cultural understandings, and physical realities. So my age is something that I absolutely love and don’t want thrown away as just a construct. 

When people say, “Well you’re 44, but you look 26” or “You’re 26 at heart,” what they’re saying is that being 44 is less desirable than being 26. It suggests that my age is a negative thing, which I don’t perceive it to be. I don’t want to seem like I’m 26. I don’t want to go back to the turmoil, chaos and uncertainty of my twenties. I am much more settled and happy in my forties. So it doesn't feel like an encouragement or compliment when somebody tells me, “Don’t worry, you don’t seem 44.” [Laughs] 

What’s something you really enjoy about being 44?  

I love the grand adventure of a new beginning. That’s what it has been for me. Forty was a kind of death — not because I was upset about turning forty but because I went through some massive health issues that really caused me to slow down and reevaluate every aspect of my life and how I was living. Everything had to go through a refiner’s fire; everything had to be put in the flame to see if it would survive: Will this burn or will it withstand the heat and pain and emerge as something else? 

So, that has meant many new beginnings. And I find new beginnings to be very scary. Stepping into the unknown feels like that scene in Indiana Jones where he steps off the cliff into nothingness, and then he throws sand and sees that there is a bridge. But without the sand, you know? You just step, and trust. And it’s terrifying! 

Stepping into the unknown and seeing what happens? To me, that’s that grandest adventure of being alive. And it’s happened so much since I’ve hit midlife. 

That said, it’s a terror I love and find exciting, the way some people love bungee jumping —  that kind of terror doesn’t interest me — but the terror of walking away from something fundamental with no idea what’s going to replace it? Stepping into the unknown and seeing what happens? To me, that’s that grandest adventure of being alive. And it’s happened so much since I’ve hit midlife.

What are some things that didn’t make it out of the fire? What didn’t come with you into this season?

[Gentle laughter] My bravado. My fitness. My people-pleasing. My self-sacrifice. My discomfort with people. 

Can you say more about that — your discomfort with people?

All my life I’ve been a loner. I’ve also been quite outgoing, so people would have said I was easy in social settings. I always had a hypersensitivity to other people — to what they thought and felt, what they might need or want. And being hyper-attuned to everyone else worked really well in social environments. 

But if you had to live with me or share space with me somewhere I couldn't retreat from you — say, as a houseguest or on a trip together sharing a hotel room — I would get extremely uncomfortable. When it was time to let go and relax, I just couldn’t do it. I didn't know how to let my guard down and show others the side of me that wasn’t intensely attentive, careful and calculated. 

What I’ve realized more recently is that it just felt too vulnerable to expose that unguarded part of myself.

That sounds exhausting. 

It was totally exhausting! And it was embarrassing because I didn't know how to just be. What I’ve realized more recently is that it just felt too vulnerable to expose that unguarded part of myself. Now, because of all that burned up in the fire, I can really enjoy being around others while feeling fully at ease and fully myself. It’s so much more comfortable, and much less taxing.

What’s something you don’t enjoy about being 44?

The inconvenience of never knowing when I should carry feminine products with me [Laughs].
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A spiritual evolution 

You’ve said that for as long as you can remember, you’ve felt a pull toward the spiritual, or interior, life. Looking back, what do you think it was that pulled you inward? What did that look or feel like for you growing up?

Well, I believe it was partly innate. I think I was born that way to a certain degree. And I think that whatever you're born with can be exacerbated by whatever trauma you experience. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the childhood traumas I experienced intensified the draw inward; I retreated inward to escape. And when I retreated inward, I was met by something outside of myself. 

I have a memory from childhood —during a deeply traumatic life experience when I was very young — of being in my bed trembling, crying and afraid. And then, a very clear presence came and sat on the side of my bed and comforted me like a parent would — a presence that at the time, I would have very clearly called Jesus. Within seconds, I was fast asleep. I woke up in the morning and everything felt normal again. 

I don't for a second think it was a child's imagination. I believe there was a caring presence in that room with me, and that experience began a very direct relationship with that entity. 

And I don't actually care what it's called; I'm very comfortable with someone calling it God, the Universe, Mystery, Source. I'm very comfortable with someone saying, “Well, that's just your inner parent, parenting your child self.” Whatever that entity is, it existed long before human language did, and will exist long after all of our languages are dead. But I have had a lifelong relationship with that spirit.

How has that spiritual journey evolved over time? Are there some elements that have remained constant? 

I would say it feels more the same than different. What’s interesting is that if I were to break it down for, let's say, my grandfather, who was a fire and brimstone Baptist minister, and I told him all about how my spiritual evolution has taken shape, he would probably say that I don't have any of my original faith, that it's a completely different thing. I don't feel that way at all. I feel like at its core it's the same thing, but some of its boundaries have expanded so far from where they were that they might be unrecognizable to somebody still within those original boundaries. 

I would still call myself a Christian; the word literally translates to Christ follower and I am 100% a Christ follower. He was an amazing dude who I really believe came to seek and save the lost. I just have a very different idea now of what that means. I no longer see things so black and white. I have a much more inclusive faith now. 

I have long, meandering philosophical conversations with God all the time, just exploring. I think the most significant difference between my faith then and my faith now is that when I was younger my faith was extremely definitive and exclusive, and my faith now is very explorative and inclusive. 

I'm constantly wondering and questioning, chasing little butterflies down rabbit holes. It doesn't scare me, and I don't think it's a sin to do that. I think God delights in my exploration of His vastness or Her greatness or Our beauty or whatever it is, and in just having faith enough to step into the mystery and say, “I have no idea but I absolutely trust that I am loved beyond anything I can imagine.” 
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Inhabiting life’s second half 

You’ve just finished reading Carl Jung’s Red Book. Jung says, “The first half of life is devoted to forming a healthy ego, the second half is going inward and letting go of it.” ‍At 44, how do you approach or understand the second half of life? 

Father Richard Rohr talks about the necessity of building security in the first half of life, and that it isn't a frivolous or fruitless thing. He said that actually, if you don't pursue it in the first half of life, there is real danger that as you transition into the second half, you might not be willing to move forward because you have unfinished business in the first half you need to attend to. 

I consider myself extremely lucky or blessed to have checked a lot of boxes in the first half of my life. I had meaningful successes. I fell in love with an incredible man. I had babies. I built multiple careers. I was fit and active. I used my body to its extreme. I tried so many things. I learned languages. I stretched and challenged myself and did so many amazing things. So as I move into the second half, I feel privileged to be able to put the striving aside and say, Okay you don't need any more gold stars. You can let all that go. 

It's no longer about those external drivers. It's about who I am and how I want to express that. I have a limited amount of time left to do that, and I feel the limitation acutely. I remember how long the journey of life stretched ahead of me when I was 20. I know how quickly time started to blow by in the last 10 years. I’m aware it's going to keep accelerating. It will be a blink of an eye before I'm 50, and then the twitch of a nose before I'm 60. 

This might sound fatalistic but I feel like I've got one more go in me, one more big push for something before I'll be taxed and need to rest. So I really want to be conscious about what that is. I want it to be an expression of what I really truly feel is wholly me, and is my Dharma. 

This might sound fatalistic but I feel like I've got one more go in me, one more big push for something before I'll be taxed and need to rest. So I really want to be conscious about what that is. I want it to be an expression of what I really truly feel is wholly me, and is my Dharma. 

Daily Dharma

Say more about Dharma. Of course, with a little nod to the Dharma Initiative from Lost. 

Really, that's all I'm after. I’m trying to get to the other island. [Laughs] 

Daniel Schmachtenberger does a phenomenal breakdown of Dharma on his website, The Consilience Project. Your Dharma is essentially the thing that your soul came to this earth to do or to be. It's like every part of who you are, every facet of your being has an expression that it’s uniquely designed for. I see it as an exploration, as if we’re in a labyrinth and you are invited to find that unique path. 

It’s what I've been asking for daily for two years now. Sometimes multiple times a day, I say, “Please guide me to my Dharma. In everything I say and everything I do and all of the choices I make, I want to be living in my Dharma.” And I don't ask beyond today because I believe if I'm in my Dharma today and then I'm in my Dharma tomorrow and then if I keep going, then at the end of my life I will look back and feel that I lived my Dharma. 

Like a prayer for daily bread — just enough for today. 

Exactly. And it doesn't involve making big plans. I'm an Enneagram One, so when I make a vow to myself, I see that vow through, come hell or high water. So it’s really important for me to make this a daily request. If I asked, “Please guide me into my lifetime Dharma,” I would sit with my head down, focused on some fixed point on the road, trying to get where I think I'm supposed to go. But I would miss all the signs along the way — and ultimately end up on the wrong path. 

Keeping it a daily practice is a way of safeguarding myself from myself. It keeps me in the flow, in the Mystery, and in the unknown, where I believe miracles can happen and magic can take place.

Would you say that’s what it means for you to live well in this season? To stay in that flow each day? 

Yes, I'd say my practice is the cornerstone of living well for me. But I also have an immediate reaction that bolts against the idea that there’s a way to live well. It feels prescriptive, like another standard to reach, and I don't want to try to reach standards. 

I spent the first half of my life trying to get everything right, and I’ve finally come to realize that the whole point isn’t to get it right but to be fully alive, right in the mess. That means sometimes it feels like everything's going wrong and I'm making all the mistakes — and I want that! I want to be really, truly alive. 

You want to inhabit your life fully, exactly as it is. 

That's right. Exactly as it is. I'm an extreme perfectionist, which sucks all of the joy out of anything I do get right because it will never be good enough or right enough— and it would never be “living well” enough. So now it’s all about practicing being fully present and alive. And I do actively practise that all the time. 
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Morning practice

Our conversation will be featured in the inaugural issue of InHabit Magazine. Our name nods toward two invitations for living the second half of life: (1) To fully inhabit the lives we actually have, exactly as they are, and (2) To embrace our agency in forming habits and practices that shape our experience. 

You’ve touched on the importance of your daily practice. Can you talk about how you approach beginnings? Are there specific habits or practices that help you start your days? 

Oh gosh, yes! I've spent a lifetime forming habits to make my life better, and they’ve served me so well. That's one of the reasons it's all about inhabiting for me right now. 

The way Carl Jung would describe those two invitations is being and becoming. The being would be the inhabiting. The becoming would be the building of habits. I'd say I’m adept at becoming — it's what I do best. I'm not as good at the being part. I'm not great at being content with what is.

So, I have a morning practice I do each day. I’ll add the caveat that I'm an artist, so I’m not super rigid about any of this. I'm very flowy. 

Before I go to bed, I ask to be woken when it’s the right time. I don't know what that time will be, because I don't know how much time I’ll need for my practice before the day starts. I don't set an alarm. 

What's the latest you've been woken up? 

‍[Laughs] The latest I think I've ever been woken would be around 45 minutes before I had to actually begin something or go somewhere. But that's rare. It's not uncommon for me to get up in the wee hours of the morning. Last week I got up at 2:30am; that was the beginning of my day because I needed about four hours of practice before my day began. 

Some days I wake up, look at the time and realize I have to just get ready and go. And on those days, I think, Okay. Trust it. Don't worry. But again, that’s quite rare. Early on, when that would happen, it would distress me because I thought I had made a mistake. The perfectionist in me thought I had failed. But I’ve learned over time to simply say, “Thanks for the day off.” I love my practice, but it does feel good sometimes to be told I can make it through a whole day without three hours of checking in that morning. 

Most days I have anywhere between one to three hours for my practice in the morning. And I don’t do anything else until I’ve finished my practice. My experience has been that the veil gets very thin in that space between sleeping and waking; immediately after I wake up, things feel very open and receptive. I can hear Mystery at work in me and around me; ever since that moment with Jesus at the side of my bed, I have had this two-way communication in my life. 

How long have you been doing this practice?

I started this particular practice around 10 years ago when I read Michael Brown's book The Presence Process. Up to that point I had never been able to meditate. But in that book, the first half prepares your brain for what's coming, and then the second half takes you through a 10-week meditation practice. 

That book gave me the tools I needed to embody the ideas I had in my head. I started doing a daily emotions check-in through connected breathing, and my practice evolved and grew from there. The more I did it, the more attuned I became. 
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On fame

You’ve talked openly about how it was never your dream to act, nor was it your desire to become a public personality. You once said that fame is the price you pay for the fortune you've earned in your acting career. How would you describe your relationship to fame today? Has it evolved? 

It has definitely evolved. It first evolved because of a conscious choice to make peace with it. 

After Lost, I retired. I was going to be a mom and a writer and never return to the acting world. Then I got a call from Peter Jackson to be part of The Hobbit, and I couldn't resist. And then I thought, Now I'm retired. Now I'm officially done. Then I got a call from Marvel. I said yes. I realized if I was going to stay in the business, I needed to make my peace with it. 

I started an intentional experiment with my fame. In my understanding of the law of attraction, there's no force more powerful than fear. So if you are terrified of attention from fans, you're going to attract it like gangbusters. So what if, instead of recoiling when a fan approaches, instead of hiding and denying that you're that person and saying you just look like her — 

Did you do that?

Oh, absolutely. Every time. I would get into arguments with people who were certain it was me, and I would look them right in the eye and deny it, saying “I just look like her.” It was ridiculous. So, I’m sorry to those people in the past! My fear was just so powerful. Whenever someone would approach me, I went into a panic; it sent me into fight or flight. 

So I started this experiment. I wondered what would happen if I tried to shift out of fear. What if I mustered the courage to shake a hand? What if I looked them in the eye instead of casting my eyes to the ground? What if I said “Nice to meet you.” instead of, “I just look like her”? 

And?

And it was instantly effective. The very first time I tried it, I went from having blurry vision and a thundering in my ears because of the rush of adrenaline to being able to see and hear clearly. My heart rate came down and I didn’t feel so out of control. Just by moving toward them a little and extending my hand to say, “Thank you. Nice to meet you,” I felt less anxious. 

It was very awkward in the beginning and I wasn’t very good at it. But I tried, you know, and it had such an immediate effect that I knew there was something to it. So I kept at it. Not only did each interaction get better and easier, but people approached me less. It was a real game changer for me, and helped me deal with years of extreme discomfort and anxiety. 

How would you describe your relationship with fame today? 

In my forties, I’ve entered a whole new season in which I've stopped hating and resenting fame. I've started to learn how to appreciate it, which is a revolution after 20 years. I get quite emotional when I think about it now, actually. 

What I’ve seen as a result of that experiment is that I can do something small, like be calm enough when meeting someone to ask for guidance, and that little voice might say something like, "Give them a hug.” So I’ll give them a hug only to have them break down and share a story with me, telling me how much they needed that or what it meant to them. 
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It's become an extension of what 16-year-old me would have called my ministry. But for years, I wouldn't have seen it that way. For a long time, I was very judgmental of everything relating to celebrity. I never idolised stars when I was growing up. I didn't read magazines. I hardly watched TV and movies. So I didn't understand why people would put anyone on a pedestal who wasn’t Mother Theresa or Nelson Mandela. 

So I just wanted to get the fame thing out of the way and talk as people. From the get-go, I would answer my fan mail directly. Every single letter that came in, I would write back. I have friends and people I mentor now who started as fans. 

Through my practice I’ve really learned how to give myself permission to be vulnerable and to exist as a whole person.

Over time, I started to make room for the possibility that not only can authentic, meaningful things happen between a celebrity and their fans, but that celebrity can actually create opportunities for having a significant impact. There’s one fan with whom I have a longstanding relationship who says I was part of the reason she didn't end her life. And I fully understand that if I wasn’t a celebrity, I wouldn't have had that impact. 

Through my practice I’ve really learned how to give myself permission to be vulnerable and to exist as a whole person. And as I’ve done that, I've made space for other people’s reality, too. 

I'm learning I can be human and still be famous. 

You have around 2.4 million followers on instagram now. What’s that been like to have all these people in your space, hearing your voice and being impacted by you?

When I began to realize just how many people were listening to me, watching me, being impacted by me, my perfectionism went through the roof. I was so afraid of making a mistake when there were people hanging on each word I said. I would stress over things like, What if I did something wrong? What if I said something that guided someone the wrong way? What if I said something that I would regret in a year? My perfectionism silenced and paralyzed me. I thought they needed me to be perfect, which I couldn’t be, so I just shut up. 

Now I'm learning I can be human and still be famous. 

People tend to fill in the gaps when we don’t know something. You’ve intentionally been quite a private person. Do you feel like people are often trying to fill in the gaps about you? How does that sit with you? 

Well, we've touched on my discomfort with people, how I denied who I was and disappeared.  We've also touched on the fact that I hid away because I was afraid I wasn't perfect enough to be famous. So really I think I set it up so that instead of people having to fill in the gaps, I just became a blank canvas onto which they could project anything they wanted. That way, everyone would like me. I did feel a lot of pressure to keep my looks as perfect as possible because as long as I was pretty and looked great, then people were more likely to project all the best possible things onto me.

It worked well for a long time. People were very good to me — I didn't have a lot of criticism or negative press. I didn't have a lot of haters, even during some controversial things. When I was cast in The Hobbit, it was controversial because my character wasn't in the books — some people were very unhappy with that. But I never felt like it turned into a big Hate Evangeline Lilly fest. 

And I really think that's because I didn't actually exist — I never showed up as my real, full, self. And I did that on purpose. I was afraid that if I existed — really existed — then they would hate me or be disappointed by me. I was afraid they would want to tear me down or hurt me. So it was just easier and better not to exist. 

When did that change? When would you say you started showing up as your full self? 

I'm doing it right now. I mean, it's brand new. I'm not even sure that I've fully done it yet. 

I'm not engaged in the business at all right now, so I don't have a lot of opportunities to practise that, which has been quite freeing. It's freed me up to pursue things like this that I might not have otherwise done – smaller, more intimate outlets, things that actually just interest me, that I care about, that are outside of pop culture. In these very, what I would call safe and caring places, I've been able to dip my toes in the water of actually existing, bringing myself to the table and saying, “This is who I am.” 

So far it feels like I’m at the beginning of something new. I don't know what, but I feel it. I don't know where we're going now, and I don't know if I'll ever go back to acting. But if I do, it will not look how it looked in the first half of my life. Whatever happens next, it feels like a new thing. A new beginning where I'm actually really, fully here now. 

On writing

You’ve been a writer for as long as you can remember. And you've now published three children's books. What has it been like to share your writing with the world? 

It’s been a long journey. 

I produced the first Squickerwonkers book with Johnny Fraser Allen of the Weta Workshop while we were in New Zealand filming The Hobbit. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven; I was living my best life. I was working on set and then on my days off I would get up at six in the morning and go into Wētā Workshop to work on the book. I could work 15 hours a day on the book and still wake up energised to get to set the next day because I was so full with my passion and my joy. 

I brought that book to the San Diego Comic-Con and made all my money back in one Comic-Con. I thought, Oh my gosh! It's even a working business model! I figured we would make a whole series, I would self publish, and it would be as euphoric as that first experience. 

Then the reality set in of what it means to become a publisher and to learn how to produce books on a schedule, in a series. It was an enormous administrative and logistical challenge, and I had no idea what I was doing. Those elements ended up taking up so much time that I didn't have time to write the books. I was spending 90% of my professional writing life doing the work of a CEO. And I am not a CEO; I am a creative, an artist. 
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Did you consider finding a publisher? 

After The Squickerwonkers was so warmly received, I did reach out to publishers. I went to one of the big publishing houses, and the children's book editor there really didn't want to meet with me. She came to the meeting very reluctantly, and at first wouldn't even sit in the room with me. It was clear she saw me as a celebrity trying to publish a children's book as opposed to a “real author.” 

That felt like a constant uphill climb. On a business level, people were eager to publish my book because they figured it would be an easy sell — no marketing required. But on a creative level, there was a lot of resistance. They saw me as a celebrity with — not even a pet project, but worse than that — a vanity project. 

It was difficult to know how to navigate that as someone who had stumbled into acting by accident, and didn’t think of it as central to who I was. But writing? I have always been a writer; I’ve been writing since I was eight. Some of the times I feel most alive are when I'm writing. 

What’s happening with the Squickerwonkers now? 

I’m actually back to a beautiful, euphoric, joyful experience like the one I had with Johnny Fraser Allen at the Weta Workshop. But this time, it’s with my new illustrator, Rodrigo Basto Didier. It’s just him and me in the creative process without any of the admin, logistics or sales. It's pure joy. Right now, we’re illustrating book five and I'm writing book six of the series. 

I’ve stopped publishing and selling the books for now. My plan is to build up the series until it's finished and then hand it off. I’ll do it differently now that I've realized I'm a writer and not a publisher. 

What else are you working on these days? 

I'm working on a memoir that chronicles very closely this journey I've taken in the last five years into the second half of my life. And the healing that was required for me to do that. In order to get there, I do take you through the journey of how I became an actress — that wild, strange twist of fate and the journey it took me on. I spend a lot of my time working on that right now. 

So this is one of your new beginnings — to tell your story on your own terms? 

Yes. You nailed it. That's exactly it. It feels like if I'm going to move forward into this next chapter, I need to put the old one to bed. And this feels like a very cathartic way to do that. 

If you had to name this chapter in your life, what would you call it? It's allowed to have subheadings. 

Well, the problem is I'm writing a memoir, so I actually know what it's called. Do I share the working title of my memoir? What if it becomes the actual title, then it's sort of spoiled? [Laughs]

Can you thesaurus it in your head and give me an alternative version? 

Exactly. [Laughs] Okay, This chapter of my life. [Pause] “Playing in the mess.” And the subtitle would be “and really enjoying it.” 

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In part two of our conversation, coming next month, Lilly opens up about acting — as a craft and an industry. She reflects on the disconnect between virtual reality and real life, shares her intentional practices for engaging in her online space, and her passion for creating better, deeper conversations. 

Join our mailing list to find out when part two is live.